


Burgundy

by TheRebelDread



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Dominance, F/M, High School, Incest, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:56:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6678823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRebelDread/pseuds/TheRebelDread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There's a pretty girl who sits in front of me in science,” Ramsay smirked, “I'm thinking of the colour of her blood.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burgundy

Ramsay wasn't like the other kids at school. This much he knew. They lived in a liberal world; too open, too bright, and overfed with optimism and narcissism. Selfies and social media. They cared about the environment and social status. College parties, high school drama. Ramsay hated all of it. His world was closed and dark. Secrets locked tightly away and buried deep, where there's cold, wet dirt and worms crawling over old bones. He was different, and they were all the same. He hated them.

 

But sometimes, he thought of them.

 

It was late. So late he was watching infomercials on basic cable while dark circles formed under his eyes. He cracked open another can of Mountain Dew to chase away the ache for sleep. He didn't want to sleep. He liked the feeling of being so tired his brain buzzed like static and everything felt far away. The woman on TV was selling a ruby necklace. He watched as the screen tunneled out of vision. Rubies.. Red.. _Burgundy._

 

He thought of long, dark hair. The cool burst of air as it was accidentally flipped back against his face. The smell of perfume. _“Sorry,”_ she'd whispered. Burgundy lips and a soft voice. She'd bit her lip.

 

Ramsay groaned.

 

His eyes closed. His hand slipped beneath the band of his sweatpants, loose on his hips. He was already hard, and he stoked his length at a slow, lazy pace as he thought of those burgundy lips stained with blood. And her voice..

 

“ _Sorry.”_

 

“ _I'm sorry, please-”_

 

“ _I'm sorry, please don't hurt me!”_

 

He wondered what her screams would sound like. How her blood would taste. Sweet. Like her perfume. His breath hitched. She had nice tits. He thought of sliding his cock between them. Then a knife. Then his cock again. Slick with blood. Warm. Wet.

 

“ _I'm sorry, please stop!”_

 

Stop.. More. _God, more._ He would smear her lipstick. Smear the blood. She'd suck his thumb. Or he'd put his blade between her ribs. _'You like that? You want my cock in your mouth instead?'_ Her mascara would run down her face, tears clinging to her long lashes. How pretty she'd look. He'd wrap her thighs around his waist, and she wouldn't fight him, not with a blade to her throat. She should know better than to wear such short skirts to school. ' _Bad girl.'_ Press his cock between her legs..

 

Ramsay pushed his hips up into his hand. His head thrown back against the couch.

 

“ _Please.”_

 

“You'll wake your brother with all that noise.” His father's voice was cold and sharp. In the same, even tone he used to speak with his clients over the phone. _'What do our numbers look like this month? If they don't match last month's profits, then you'd better hang up and call me back with a different answer.'_

 

Ramsay didn't bother opening his eyes. Didn't stop. Sleep drunk and wild with lust, his mind was in another place. A warm place.

 

“Fuck him.” Domeric was one of _Them._ Pretty and popular. Smoked weed with the soccer coach and fucked cheerleaders under the bleachers. All with straight A's and a full scholarship.

 

“That's cute. Coming from the boy fucking his hand and moaning like a whore.”

 

Ramsay moaned again, needy and exaggerated. His mind wandered back to Her. He'd lift her hips so he could get a handful of that cute little ass. Watch the blood run over her chest and pool in the hollow of her collarbone.

 

“Fuck.”

 

His senses were heightened. He could hear his father's even breathing. Smell his cologne.

 

“Tell me what you're thinking about,” he said. It was not a question, and Ramsay could feel him moving closer.

 

“There's a pretty girl who sits in front of me in science,” he smirked, “I'm thinking of the colour of her blood.”

 

The soft leather of the couch dipped under his weight as Roose moved between Ramsay's spread legs. “Her blood is the same colour as yours, you smug little brat.” His fingers gripped Ramsay's chin and the boy finally opened his eyes; shockingly blue and ice cold – like his fathers – blown wide and wild with lust. “What do you want to do to her?”

 

Rebellious as he was, Ramsay knew to obey. “I want to run a knife across her throat and watch the blood pour over her tits.” She wore a black, lacey bra. Ramsay had seen it once when she bent over to pick up a pen she'd dropped. Tease. Ramsay imagined it stained with blood. He could feel the heat from Roose's body, and found himself aching to be pinned beneath it, a whine forming at the back of his throat.

 

“What else?” His voice was in his ear, deeper now. Edged with desire.

 

“I want-” his breath hitched as his hand slid over his length, “I want to fuck her mouth.”

 

Roose watched Ramsay's mouth and the boy licked at his lip. Bit it.

 

“Is that so?”

 

Ramsay moaned.

 

“What else do you want?”

 

“I want....” With his free hand, Ramsay tugged at Roose's belt and arched his hips, until he felt the hard line of his cock in that over-priced suit. He cursed and did the motion again, and it made his eyes cross.

 

A deep groan crawled out of Roose's throat as he pressed his hips against the eager body beneath him. He stilled the boy's thin hips with his hands, pinning them to the leather couch. “You want my cock? Is that what you want?”

 

“Yes.. _Please.”_

 

But Ramsay was too far gone – or perhaps he would've gotten just that – a panting, moaning mess beneath him. Roose let him grind onto his cock, his hand working at his own length. He slid his hands under the boy's shirt, fingers dancing over his ribs, his skin fever hot to the touch. “You gonna make yourself come?”

 

“Yeah.” Ramsay's voice cracked. Roose's belt buckle was cool against his palm, his chest heaving and his head swimming. He wasn't thinking of the girl anymore, though he could imagine her lipstick on his father's throat, smeared and wet, burgundy against pale skin, and his eyes rolled back in his head. His body shook, as he spilled into his hand, moaning out a string of obscenities and something that sounded a lot like _'daddy.'_

 

When he came down from the high, Roose was hovering over him, his cock hard between Ramsay's thighs. He growled, wild and raw, and Ramsay wanted so badly to kiss him. Taste him.

 

But with the willpower only the head of the Bolton household could muster, Roose got to his feet, looking down at the wrecked boy on the couch as he adjusted himself in those expensive pants.

 

“You're filthy. Go clean yourself up.” He said coolly, but Ramsay reveled in the barely audible quake in his voice. “And apologize to your brother for being a noisy little slut.”

 

Ramsay smirked, teeth biting into his lower lip. “Yes, daddy.”

 

 

 


End file.
